


In The Dark

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [19]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, M/M, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Wartenberg Wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8294668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Mitch puts the blindfold on himself, nudging the padded eyepieces until it sits just so across the bridge of his nose. He takes another few moments to tuck the headphones into the perfect position against his ears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> KINKtober Day 15: Sensory Deprivation. Special thanks to RagingRainbow for betaing this at 2 in the morning for my drunk ass. ♥

The set-up is all Mitch’s show. Scott sits back on his heels, kneeling between Mitch’s spread legs as he watches Mitch prepare himself. It’s strangely like preparing for a performance: it has the familiar feeling of routine and practice. Mitch puts the blindfold on himself, nudging the padded eyepieces until it sits just so across the bridge of his nose. He takes another few moments to tuck the headphones into the perfect position against his ears. They’re noise-cancelling and ginormous, and they make Mitch’s head look small when he wears them.

It’s up to Scott to start playing the music. Mitch created a trance playlist—Scott hasn’t actually listened to it, because he loses interest quickly when there’s no steady beat, but it works for Mitch and that’s all that matters. Scott plugs the headphones into Mitch’s phone and waits for him to make himself comfortable on the bed.

It’s also Scott’s job to bind Mitch into place, to latch the metal cuff bracelets to the clips at the corners of their headboard, and the padded restraints around Mitch’s ankles to the matching clips at the foot of the bed.

He stretches above Mitch, keeping a careful distance between their bodies as he fiddles with the clips. This part is always strange—the whole thing is strange, really, but Scott is thrown by this moment in particular, when Mitch is deprived of his sight but still able to hear him moving around. He tries to be as quiet as possible, so Mitch can’t guess where he is, but he can’t hide the sound of his breath or the rustle of fabric being displaced as he shifts his weight.

When Mitch is strapped down, Scott asks, “You ready?”

Mitch doesn’t speak, only nods.

Scott taps _play_ on Mitch’s phone. He sets it aside, the cord snaking carefully under Mitch’s arms so the phone can rest on the nightstand.

This is the really strange part. The part where Mitch can’t see him, can’t _hear_ anything. All he has is the feeling of displaced air around his body whenever Scott moves.

At first, Scott likened Mitch’s kink to a game, a test of Scott’s skill at being sneaky and Mitch’s senses, coming through for him when his sight and hearing failed. But he’s since learned that Mitch actually gets off on the uncertainty. The surprise is what he’s after. He wants Scott to be unpredictable.

With Mitch lying so obediently and silently, Scott has a wealth of undiscovered options. He pulls out a few of their usual tools: a feather cat toy, the studded gloves Mitch likes to pretend aren’t a statement about their relationship when he wears them in public. He takes out the Wartenberg wheel, too; they don’t use it often, and they never have during one of these sessions, when Mitch can’t see it coming. Scott’s very interested to see how he’ll react.

Scott instinctively murmurs, “Okay, here we go,” even though Mitch can’t hear him. That’s the hardest part about this, having no opportunity to talk to Mitch about the things he’s feeling. Scott makes a point to test all of his instruments on himself—but his favorite part about Mitch slipping under into the sensory-deprived headspace is that even the smallest, lightest touches set him off like a rocket.

He can’t direct Mitch at all, which is frustrating, but Mitch either knows what Scott likes, or he does it instinctively. He moans when Scott trails his fingers up and down his chest. He opens his mouth and lets out a desperate plea when Scott’s hands drift below his waist.

“Here we go,” Scott says again. 

He slips on the glove and drags his hand along the same path, up and down Mitch’s chest, across his stomach, over the curve of his hip. He presses in a little bit there, hard enough for the studs to leave momentary imprints on Mitch’s skin. He follows up with his tongue, tasting the tiny red marks, feeling the heat of them.

Mitch squirms, rolling his hips and thrusting into the air. His cock drips precome onto his belly, but Scott ignores it for now. He ignores Mitch’s breathy moans, too; until his vocalizations turn into words, it doesn’t count as begging.

With his free hand, Scott reaches for the feathered toy. He keeps the studded glove on, keeps making contact with Mitch’s body intermittently. He likes being able to see Mitch’s muscles tense with surprise every time Scott touches him. It’s a ripple effect; if he presses the pointy studs into Mitch’s thigh, he can watch the tension radiate throughout Mitch’s whole body starting from that small point.

Scott flicks the tip of the feathers against the underside of Mitch’s chin. It’s a light tickle, barely a graze, but Mitch reacts like there’s nothing holding him in place. He thrashes against his bonds, whimpering high in his throat.

“You like that?” Scott asks, grinning. Mitch can’t hear him. Scott can’t help himself. He’s so used to talking to Mitch, to hearing Mitch respond. He needs that connection, and it’s very strange to be deprived of it. The only connection he has to Mitch right now is physical.

Mitch’s exaggerated, passionate reactions to the feathers are almost unbelievable. If Scott didn’t know better, he’d think Mitch was faking, but they’ve done this too many times, and the tickle always gets the best of him.

Finally it’s time to amp up the intensity. Scott puts the feathered toy aside and reaches for the Wartenberg wheel. He’s nervous about using it while Mitch is blindfolded and can’t see that it’s coming, but they’ve played with it a few times before, and Mitch has loved the sharpness and the tease of it.

Scott rolls the wheel across his own arm to test the pressure of the spikes. He keeps his grip light, lets it drift over the skin. It doesn’t hurt. It’s like little pinpricks, there and gone in the next instant, a faint scratching sensation.

He moves the wheel to Mitch’s skin, hovers about an inch above the taut, flat expanse of his stomach. Gently, gently, he lowers it down, rolls it once across and down to Mitch’s hip. The points aren’t even that sharp, definitely not sharp enough to draw blood, but Mitch…

Mitch reacts like Scott is cutting into him. He opens his mouth wide on a desperate gasp, his head tilted back, exposing the long length of his throat. Scott moves the wheel there next. He’s delicate about it; he has to be careful here, in case Mitch moves too much. He follows the curve of Mitch’s Adam’s apple, rolls the wheel down into the shallow dip of his clavicle, and all the while Mitch lets out a low, steady groan. His hands are clenched into tight fists, suspended in his cuffs. He’s keeping himself very still. He’s being so good tonight. Scott will have to think of an appropriate reward.

He wants to ask, gauge what Mitch is craving right now, but of course Mitch can’t hear him.

Scott braces himself with one hand beside Mitch’s hip and leans up so their faces are level. He can feel Mitch’s rapid breaths across his face. He wonders if Mitch can feel Scott’s breath too. He considers kissing Mitch but doesn’t; he likes the idea of Mitch not knowing where he is, how he’s positioned.

He rests the wheel against Mitch’s arm, just above the elbow, and slowly rolls it down, outlining his tattoos neatly until he reaches Mitch’s chest. Without breaking the wheel’s path, Scott angles it so it arcs around Mitch’s nipple.

As the wheel drifts lower and lower on Mitch’s body, Scott presses slightly harder, drawing more vocal reactions. He listens for a word, any word, anything that would let him know Mitch is close. His cock his leaking, throbbing with each shift of Mitch’s hips, but that’s not a reliable indicator.

Finally, Scott gives in to the impulse and drags the wheel down to the base of Mitch’s cock. He holds the tool lightly, only lets the spikes rest gently against Mitch’s skin, but Mitch’s breathing goes high and tight; he’s close to whining, and Scott listens closely for the moment he breaks.

He spares a glance up at Mitch’s face; Mitch’s mouth is open wide, his brows knit in a beautifully desperate sort of expression. But Scott waits for him to speak.

It doesn’t take long. Scott rolls the wheel teasingly around Mitch’s cock, his thighs, up again to his hip and back down. When the spikes make contact with Mitch’s shaft he actually cries out sharply, pain in his voice like he’s being stabbed.

“Come on,” Scott murmurs. “Come on, baby, tell me.”

Scott wraps his gloved hand around Mitch’s cock. He holds it gently, wary of the studs, but it’s what finally breaks Mitch’s composure. He cries out again and says, “Oh, fuck, fuck, please, Scott, please, I need to come, let me come, let me come, _let me come_...”

“Yes,” Scott whispers. It doesn’t matter that Mitch can’t hear him. He leans in and pulls Mitch’s cock into his mouth, sliding down until his lips are wrapped around the base and he can feel the head at the back of his throat. He pulls up slowly, sucking hard, and the taste of Mitch’s precome blooms on his tongue. It’s only another moment before Mitch comes hard, thrusting his hips up off the bed to shoot down Scott’s throat.

Scott does away with the toys and quickly unhooks Mitch’s cuffs from the four corners of the bed. The headphones are next; Scott pauses the playlist before reaching up to push them away from Mitch’s ears.

Mitch doesn’t move at all the whole time, sprawled limp and spread-eagled, panting and breathless. Scott watches the rhythm of his heaving chest, waits for his breathing to slow down a little before tucking his finger beneath the band of Mitch’s blindfold.

Mitch sighs, murmurs, “Yes, please,” and Scott slides the blindfold off. It takes Mitch a moment to open his eyes; he blinks several times, his eyelashes fluttering, before his eyes find Scott. Their gazes meet and hold.

“How was it?” Scott asks softly.

Mitch smiles. “It hurt.” He seems satisfied with the pain, though, so Scott doesn’t worry about it.

He waits for Mitch to continue, and when Mitch remains quiet, gently pokes his arm to prompt him.

“It was really intense,” Mitch tells him. “I didn’t think you’d use something sharp… What was that?”

As soon as Scott holds the toy aloft, understanding dawns in Mitch’s expression.

“I should’ve guessed,” he sighs. “It was good. I liked that one while I was blindfolded. It made it… sharper. Scarier.”

“That’s a good thing?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, that’s a good thing.” Mitch sighs again, then yawns. At last, he moves from his starfished position on the bed, reaching for Scott with both arms. Scott goes to him, cuddles up so they’re tangled together in a familiar pose. It’s comforting to feel Mitch breathing against his chest, quiet puffs of air ghosting across his skin.

“I didn’t think you’d let me come,” Mitch murmurs.

“You were being so good,” Scott replies. He kisses Mitch’s hair. “Deserved a reward.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
